For starters, the story was not as well told as in many previous Disney films. You might think it is because most Disney classics are based on fairy tales while Princess is a story Disney made up itself, but the reality is that Disney is essentially making up the story no matter what. In its basic form, a fairy tale is actually not cinematic at all. The raw story structure in most fairy tales is bizarre, dreamlike and rambling, and most of the impact of the story comes from symbolism rather than interpersonal drama. Disney’s “fairy tale” films are so heavily adapted as to be largely unique, as they have to add progression and focus to the plot and to flesh out the one-dimensional archetypical characters.

The story in Princess is not carelessly put together, but it lacks dynamic energy. It fulfills all its story needs in a paint-by-numbers sort of way, without giving the audience time to really get to know the characters or to become fully immersed in the setting. And this is the important part: the characters are interesting and likable and the setting is cool. But we are rushed from place to place and event to event so fast that we have no time to bond.

You spend about three seconds here.

What should be fascinating and evocative becomes a mushy blur, and we witness the actions of the characters while we’re still unclear as to what their motivations are. The villain especially suffers from this–he’s flavorful, unique, and badass, but we don’t know what he’s trying to accomplish until the middle of the film, and even then it doesn’t seem to make complete sense. “Surely such an interesting fellow must have more to him than that,” we think. Unfortunately, we never get to see any more.

Also, and this is key in a Disney animated feature, the music was generally uninteresting. Musical numbers, sex scenes, and fight sequences all suffer from the same form of misuse in a mediocre film: they are put in not to advance character or plot, but because the filmmaker figures “it’s about time we had one of these.” Many of the songs in Princess seem obligatory rather than sensational, seemingly cropping up whenever a new character is introduced, a plot development occurs, or the setting changes. The Cornerstone Disney Plot Songs are all present-–the heroine’s Longing Song, the Helper Song, the Love Song, and the Villain Song–-but too little character development is done to give them emotional weight. If you compare the use of music in Princess to something like The Little Mermaid, in which every song serves an important structural purpose (as well as being memorable and entertaining in its own right), it just can’t measure up.

Reading what I just wrote, it sounds as though I hated this movie, which actually isn’t true. It’s just that disappointment stings so much more than plain mediocrity. I was hoping for at least a Mulan level of quality, and I feel that The Princess and the Frog fell short. I was hoping, just as Disney was hoping, that this movie would be a needed shot in the arm for their flagging animation department, and help transfer Disney’s focus back to hand-drawn animation and away from awful 3-D and live-action treacle. Although I guess that the palpable effort they put into this film, and the somewhat underperforming result, matter less in that regard than its box-office returns. Perhaps Disney will release more traditional animated features in the future, and if this movie is the reason why, then it was all worth it.

But we can’t help it, you see. I, for one, have never played a game where the developers endeavored to inject as much atmospheric, entertaining content into every corner of their work as much as BG2. Here is one of my favorite examples. In most fantasy games, if there is an inn mechanic, the PC walks up to the innkeeper and initiates dialogue. The Standard Fantasy Innkeeper is invariably fat, bored, and boring. He asks for a few coppers and sends you up to bed, with nary a second glance. If you’re lucky, you can squeeze a rumor or two out of him. Whereas in BG2, this happens:

Vincenzo the Innkeep:  ’Allo to you an’ a good day! I am Vincenzo and I offer you all the services of me humble l’il inn!

Willet the Stableboy: There’re a lot o’ things t’ be said about yer inn, Vince … but “humble” ain’t the one I would be pickin’, aye?

Vincenzo the Innkeep: Hush, boy! An’ keep callin’ me “Vince” an’ I’ll have ye strapped o’er a log! The name’s “Vincenzo!”

Willet the Stableboy: ‘At’s a lotta rot. Ye hears that name from a Sembian trader an’ suddenly yer puttin’ on airs. Pfeh!

Vincenzo the Innkeep: Never mind the boy. He’s an ignorant lout I took in out of pity. A simpleton who doesn’t know his place. Is there aught I can do for you, my good Lady?

This is what I mean. These NPCs, who continue to argue with one another every time the player interacts with them, serve no further use later in the plot. There is no purpose to their conversation other than to delight me, and the game is chock full of this stuff. And some people think a good RPG is about damage per second and item harvesting.

Do I think Dragon Age lives up to this game in sheer richness of detail? It doesn’t, but frankly, no modern game could. Nowadays developers have too much other stuff to worry about, like creating character models that don’t resemble Polly Pocket dolls. Making each and every NPC into a quirky character and creating fantasy cities that seem alive with real individuals would take time and energy that they simply don’t have.

Sexy.

And really, DA:O is still damn atmospheric, more than any RPG I’ve played for a long time. I still love you, Bioware. Call me.

See?

Like many of the commenters, I don’t believe a word of it. While Pixar is the only studio I can think of that I would trust to modernize a cartoon as stealthily profound as TBLT, and I would certainly go running to the theaters with great excitement were it to ever happen, I feel pretty safe categorizing such a notion as pure fantasy. For one thing, Pixar is far too fond of creating fresh ideas to bother remaking a cult classic, which is of course one of the things we all love about them. More importantly, however, the actual story content and mood of TBLT runs counter to Pixar’s modus operandi. I consider this to be neither a good nor a bad thing, as it should be obvious by now that I adore both these subjects, but I certainly think that they don’t belong together.

Pixar, like any maker of brilliant children’s media, is not afraid to touch on the dark and unsettling aspects of their stories. At the same time, each of their films is buoyed by a strong undercurrent of hope. Even their flagship Toy Story, which shares some thematic similarities with The Brave Little Toaster and clearly has said movie as one of its influences, is an inspirational tale of triumph over adversity. TBLT, on the other hand, is a surrealist tragedy that has a happy ending only in the barest sense of the term–it is a veneer, a requirement because it is a kid’s movie, but really only a thin disguise that does nothing to change the fact that the main themes of the film are sacrifice, abandonment and despair.

Onward to futility!

Most people I know have one of two opinions about The Brave Little Toaster. Either it scared them when they were children, so they hate it, or it scared them when they were children, so they adore it. The former often cite this particular piece of nightmare fuel, and it’s no surprise that such a sequence is certainly terrifying for young kids and would put a lot of them off liking the film.¹ There are many more examples of frightening symbolism: mangled appliances sing about the ongoing horror that is their lives; the vacuum cleaner gets upset at one point and starts choking on his own cord; and I hope I’m not the only person who thought that the Blanket’s needy obsession with its Master was kind of creepy.²

But some of us, for whatever reason, were not driven away by TBLT’s dark undertones, instead finding ourselves drawn in by its at times heartbreaking poignancy. For instance, the highest point of hopefulness in the film is followed almost immediately by this:

The infamous Air Conditioner scene, extremely stylized and even a little silly, is nonetheless a perfect blend of the film’s frightening aspects and tragic themes:

For my money, though, the best sequence in The Brave Little Toaster is the song “Worthless.” This occurs right before the climax of the movie and is the part that sums up its message. Various junked cars sing about their invariably sad lives as they are, one by one, crushed into tiny cubes by an emotionless machine:

This is, in my opinion, one of the most affecting scenes in children’s cinema, and can be attested to by the numerous YouTube commenters discussing which car they personally think has the saddest story.³ This scene is promptly followed by a very disturbing climax, in which the Toaster has to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to save his Master, mangling his metal body in the cruel gears of fate for the sake of someone whom he has always deemed to have far greater value than himself. Then the Master repairs him and adopts him once more into his shelter of usefulness and love, but I ignore that part because, as I said waaaaaay back at the beginning of this post, it fails to convince me (dramatically speaking). The rest of the movie is just too goddamned sad.

So here ends my rave about why TBLT is awesome, and secondarily why Pixar will never remake it because they are awesome in an entirely different and less depressing way. If anyone has actually made it this far, I’m glad I got to share my obsession with the underlying dark themes of children’s movies with you. I’m only one of the many people that this film has made a permanent impression on, and I think it deserves to be lauded for what it is. However, as it grows dated, I doubt it will be resurrected anytime soon even by the magnificent Pixar. It’s actually quite fitting that this little movie about the doom of obsolescence should suffer that fate itself, but at the very least it will live on in the hearts of many children born in the 1980s, and perhaps even those of future generations will find something to appreciate in it. Some things never lose their worth.

1. My younger sister has told me that she saw the movie when she was young and then saw it again as an older child with the “clown” scene removed for the television version, and for a long time didn’t know whether the scene had actually existed or whether she had simply made it up–which would make it all the scarier.
2. The part that especially sticks in my memory runs from 1:43 to 2:11 in that video.
3. For me it goes either to the pink convertible who has given up on life but is unsure how or why, or to the pickup from a reservation that served loyally only to be rewarded with a thankless abandonment–I also find it interesting that he is the only car to drive himself to the crusher rather than being dragged there by the magnet.

I don’t know how I ended up watching it on the internet. But from the first few scenes, I was convinced I’d found her. I didn’t remember the name of the character or even much about the cartoon itself, but I’ve always remembered how it made me feel. Even from the time I was very little, I noticed how unfair gender roles seemed in the entertainment I consumed. Women just never seemed to be doing anything. My favorite genre, fantasy, sparked my imagination and transported me to other worlds, but the main character was invariably a man who I didn’t identify with. This meant that the few times I did encounter an animated fantasy centered around a woman, I’d latch onto it and never let go. I’ve always carried a memory of that brightly colored VHS tape sitting on the lower level of a wooden rack in the tiny video rental store in Navajoland–we were still living on the Rez, which is how I know I must’ve been really young–and that I begged my mother to take it out for me again.

Now, I know it was She-Ra.

After watching a few episodes, I also know why I remember my mother rolling her eyes and sighing when I went up to her, clutching the video. It’s literally the most unsubtle thing I’ve ever watched, and I watch Walker, Texas Ranger.

Later he'll stare down a bear.

There are some things from our foggy childhood memory-ooze that deserve to be enjoyed again as we grow up (the three films I mentioned in the second sentence of this post are excellent examples), but even as I watch this cartoon and torment my poor husband with the horrible voice acting, I know that the thrill I’m getting from it is entirely related to my memories and not the show itself. It’s just an animated advertisement for some toys, after all, with utterly ridiculous characters¹ and cludgy moral messages. But I can take comfort in the fact that what it helped me to believe when I was very young, that it’s possible for female characters to ride around on horses swinging swords and being the main focus of a story, is worthwhile. Sometimes, something doesn’t have to be good in order to matter.

It’s also very gratifying whenever I discover that a piece of media I remember from long ago actually exists and isn’t just a figment of my imagination. I’m still holding out hope that that weird Alice in Wonderland ripoff that has mind control in it and a villain who lives in a bowling ball house wasn’t just a dream I had once. I mean, the kangaroo ninjas turned out to be from a real movie, and they were a much stupider idea! If anybody ever watches something that has a guy who lives in a bowling ball, they need to let me know.

1. My favorite character description from the Wikipedia page is this: “Sweet Bee is a bee-woman from an intergalactic bee colony who came to Etheria seeking Bees and a new home when her race of Bee’s homeworld is destroyed by Wasps.”

Ow! Hey, that’s mean! You’ll pay for that, just as soon as I’ve finished guzzling all sixteen potions of healing I have right here. You have got to be the sorriest foe I’ve faced thus far, you gigantic strumpet! You’re pathetic.

You’re not even an interesting villain. What, blind lust for power? Is that all you’ve got? Sure, Jon Irenicus was a bit of a crybaby, but at least he had motivations other than an “I Heart Murder” license plate. At least while I was chasing him across, through, and literally under all of goddamned Faerun I could occupy myself with contemplating how, beneath his snobby British mad scientist exterior, he was really an emo MySpace kid with pictures of the elven Queen taped to the inside of his locker.

Whereas you had nothing but your stupid twist. “Oh, I’m Melissan and I guide you to each Bhaalspawn you have to kill and I’m real nice, but then it turns out I’m going to slay you and steal your essence.” As if we all didn’t know you were a fucking bitch from the beginning!

Oh my god! You killed all my friends, you filthy whore! Quick, resurrect them! Minsc! Jaheira! Imoen! Haer’Dalis! Well, okay, maybe not Haer’Dalis, but I’ll still get you for killing him. It’s the principle of the thing.

What kind of a name is Melissan, anyway? All it is is Melissa with a goddamned random consonant on the end of it. What is that, supposed to strike fear into my very soul? And don’t think that putting it back to Amelyssan the Blackhearted changes anything. We’re always going to remember that you sucked at choosing aliases.

Melissan Joan Hart, fucking Priestess of Murder.

I don’t care if you are a Deathstalker and Bhaal’s formerly most trusted servant. Your history is probably so lame that Bioware didn’t even bother to make it up for you, and you’ve lived your whole life in the shadow of people who were born to be better than you at the one thing you’re good at: killing. That’s right, my Dad is the owner and CEO of Murder Ltd., and I’m his bratty kid that lounges by the pool and gets bitchin’ cars for my birthday, and you’re nothing but his fucking secretary. Chew on that while you’re ripping my intestines out from my eye sockets, you fat cow!

Ouch! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

\

She's not really sure about this, and frankly, neither are we.

So what’s the big deal? Well, a princess, especially a Disney princess, is socially speaking so much more than the daughter of royalty (and really, the royalty thing is sort of optional). What really counts is that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, and therefore, in the politics of our culture, the most powerful woman in the world. Little girls love Disney princesses because they are a vision of their ultimate goals. It may sound depressing, but it’s less so if you think about it on a symbolic level: it’s not beauty in and of itself that they desire, but the power over others that it brings. Well, maybe that’s still depressing. But little boys have the same goals only focusing on different means (strength, super powers), so it’s kind of even.

In short, Tiana up there has been carefully crafted by Disney, the gatekeepers of the sacred Princess Archetype, and we should give them a little credit for finally crossing a line they’ve been afraid to for at least fifteen years. And in true Disney fashion, they’re clearly taking great pains to do it while stepping on as few toes as possible.

Of course, Disney claims that creating a black princess is an idea that came about “organically” one day when they were all thinking about how great a town New Orleans is. I don’t believe that for even a second. They’ve known for years that they needed a black princess, but they were waiting until it was safe.

Okay, that’s a little unfair. They announced this film way back in 2007. But it’s true that Disney is always more comfortable in the wake of the cutting edge when it comes to social change. It represents the mainstream, and so in its own way this film is a very good sign for race relations.

What’s interesting is there appears to be a divided response among the demographic at issue. Some black people are quite offended by what they’ve seen so far, whereas others don’t see a problem. This probably says more about our current societal state than it does about the film, but then again I’ve always felt that the primary value of Disney films is in their reflection of contemporary cultural values. They act sort of as entertainment time capsules, and The Princess and the Frog is sure to be a fascinating addition, charged as it is. I for one can’t wait to see it.

1. Pixar’s films absolutely do not count. I don’t care who owns who, creatively Pixar and Disney are completely different beasts.

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The genre shall be ours forever! Forth Eorlingas!

I should probably clarify what I mean by “high” and “low” fantasy. Generally speaking, high fantasy stories are like LotR and Star Wars, featuring an epic scope, black-and-white moral dichotomies, and lots of magic or the equivalent of magic, like the Force. Low fantasy stories like that of Conan the Barbarian tend to have more constrained proportions (such as being centered on one man’s quest for revenge instead of the salvation of the entire world), ambiguous morality, and very limited use of magic. It’s a great use of fantasy, and I’m glad to see it resurrected even if it’s all being done for money. Hopefully it will be worthwhile, as the Batman and Star Trek reboots have been.

And the RPG features that Alpha Protocol will have sound quite intriguing. Apparently it will have real-time, unrepeatable dialogues, a rather daring and exciting break from role-playing game traditions. You’ll be able to dress your little man up different outfits that can make a difference during gameplay, which is compelling because as we all know, deep down, everybody who loves RPGs — no matter how macho — also loves paper dolls. You’ll make choices that actually change the course of the game, and it appears that you can build up meaningful relationships with NPCs. This last one is especially important to me, since I consider it to be a core component of any RPG even though most of them tend to throw it out the window.

Hello there. Would you like a quest?

On the other hand, Alpha Protocol is the only game I know of that I wanted to play and whose previews made me want to play it less. They seem to be rather generic copies of what goes on in spy movies and action shows, although it sounds rather like this is what the developers were aiming at. I’m a little worried that my immersion might be ruined by what appears to be mediocre voice-acting and a complete lack of expressions on any of the characters’ faces, especially when they’re talking.

It’s not that it makes it look like a bad game. All its good features remain, and I’ll definitely still try it. But the video did serve to dampen my enthusiasm significantly. The reason I favor RPGs over, say, shooters is because I care about the emotional state of the character I’m playing, and of the NPCs, as well. I want more than to just look like a badass while I shoot or slice people (although I want that, as well). I want to be able to explore my character’s inner world. And it seems to me that maybe the makers of Alpha Protocol have fallen into the trap many game-makers fall into: thinking that cool is enough.